


Vir Lath Sa'Vunin

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I told you. This is a bad idea." He knows he mustn't continue their relationship - knows he needs to end it, but the proud elf's heart aches for his Inquisitor, and his body positively screams for her. Despite his resolve, Solas just can't do it yet. He needs this. He needs her. (Vir lath sa'vunin: we love one more day.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vir Lath Sa'Vunin

**Author's Note:**

> A very quickly written little ditty for the sake of shameless smut, but with a touch of angst. Enjoy.

“I told you,” Solas said quietly, drumming his fingers on the railing of her balcony. “This is a bad idea.”

The Inquisitor was drawing very near to him. He had worked up such strong resolve for this moment, but –

She smiled, her bright eyes flicking to linger on his mouth for a moment before gazing up at him again. “And I told you,” Lavellan whispered, inching ever closer. “I really don’t care. I need you, Solas. I _love_ you.” Her voice was very small, and her cheeks rather pink. She was flush, and he could feel her warmth an inch away from him.

Never had he met someone outside the fade who could render him so speechless. His heart was beating madly and he was choked by it. It felt bizarre. Such sensations were most unfamiliar to him. It had been – well, he didn’t want to count the years.

The time he’d spent alone was long, but the newness of these feelings for him was not the reason for his sweaty palms and nervous sputtering. No – in the end, the Inquisitor would be hurt. In the end, he would have to leave her to fulfill his other duties, and she would be crushed. He could not bear to see her heart injured, and certainly not by his own hand. And, if he was being honest with himself, the idea of leaving her sent a shock of agony to his own chest for far more selfish reasons. It made him dread the day that this would come to pass.

That was why he had to end it now. That was why this… could not go on. He had to stop. Just… tell her… no…

But her lips were an inch from his as she stretched her neck up to meet him, and his body was reacting to her of its own volition. With a soft groan of relief he sunk his mouth upon hers, reaching his hands up to hold her face and press her closer. He devoured her, his whole body humming with glee and his mouth burning with the sweetness of her tongue.

Was it something in the air here? Was it simply the power of the night’s darkness and the gentle breeze? Was all good sense lost here?

He was losing the ability to string two thoughts together outside the things we wanted to do to the lithe woman in his arms. Instinctively, his fingers tensed, clutching her more tightly so she gasped against him. The sound sent shudders through him. This was unreal. She was too lovely; too sweet; too warm. It simply could not be. Her very existence seemed impossible. Yet there she was: wanting him… waiting…ready...

Losing judgment entirely at the thought of how she wanted him, Solas began to walk her backward. They reentered her quarters with a slight stumble. His long fingers slid beneath her shirt, half tugging irritably at the fabric to remove it and half anxiously clambering to touch what bit of flesh he could reach. He swallowed hard, trying to pull himself back down to earth. “ _Ma vhenan_ ,” he choked, “I…  really mustn’t…” But he could not bring himself to remove his hands from her smooth flesh.

She whined, balling her tiny fists up in the fabric of his flowing shirt. “Solas… _emma lath_ … please,” she breathed, and she looked distressed. The sound of his name on her lips undid him, and his intuitive need to keep her from looking so sad egged him on.. He practically growled as the backs of her knees hit the bed, and she drew a sharp breath of surprise.

When his teeth then clamped about her delicate neck, the Inquisitor moaned. She fumbled with her buttons, straining to remove the blouse as quickly as possible. Their mouths danced with one another - wet, hot, and insistent - as though neither individual had ever had such close contact with another.

“Yes,” she sighed around his tongue, “Please.” He pressed his forehead to hers, gazing down her torso, and tugged hard at the Inquisitor’s shirt. Buttons pattered across her floor, and a sharp ripping sound broke the cacophony of sighs diffusing through her quarters. She gasped just as he moaned quietly.

Solas shut his eyes hard, inhaling her neck in anguish as he yanked aside the tattered hangings around her heaving body – like an animal learning the scent of its prey. “Oh, Mythal, forgive me,” he growled furiously – and he completely lost himself. With a quick shove, she found herself on her back, and Solas was above her, his slender hand cupping her breast as he invaded her mouth – searching, needing, barraging and practically consuming her.

When he felt her clawing at his shirt again, he tensed, but allowed the slip to glide over his head and crumple on the bed next to them. Her warm hands running down his long expanse of back sent him reeling. He needed more of her. He would always need more. He felt suddenly that he could never experience nearly enough of his Inquisitor. Never.

Their bare chests flush together, the heat rose between them and they sighed, feeling that they could never be close enough for satisfaction.

 _Stop_ , Solas tried to tell himself, his head positively screaming it. _This is madness. Stop this. Now_. But he could not stop his hand from sliding between them, brushing past her naval, and lingering on her waistband. When she moaned and bucked upward against him, he was overcome. His mind went blank again. There was no one but his Inquisitor, now. Nothing else mattered. “I need you,” he growled. Something of the animal in him was really bursting out of him now, and he was no longer in control. Taken over by primal desire, there was no logic anymore.

Her breeches slid down the length of her hips with effort from both parties, and she kicked them down the rest of the way, wriggling beneath his lean figure to do so as he cupped her face, kissing her fervently. Their breathing was ragged, their hearts thumping against one another, and the occasional wanton moan rang out in her quarters so that he found himself praising the fact that the room was fairly isolated from the rest of the castle.

When he heard the fabric slump onto the floor, and felt her fingers tease at his own trousers, he let out a breathy hiss. There was no going back now. He couldn’t. He needed her. He could feel her naked body aching beneath him, her legs pulling back so he could rest between them more comfortably. His mouth fell open automatically when he realized he was physically completely aroused, and pressing through his clothing against the warmest, wettest of places. His little gasp elicited her to take his head in her hands.

She ran a finger down the length of his ear, smiling. Her eyes were heavy with lust. “Solas, _emma lath_ ,” she breathed. Elvish on her swollen lips was more tantalizing than anything in this world. The corners of his mouth twitched, feeling himself grow harder. She grinned. “Let go,” she said. “You deserve this. There is nothing else tonight, Solas. Only you… ” Her hand reached between them and she traced the shape of him through his straining breeches. He bit his lip, narrowing his eyes at her hungrily. “…And me.” She kissed his cheek, and wrapped her legs around him, using her calves to press him into her so that both of them sighed.

The sensations between them were so strong, he wasn’t sure anything more was even necessary. The love he felt coursing through him and the fire in his veins from her touch – it was heaven. But he needed to be closer. He needed to feel more. He was insatiable. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he said with a snarl. _As you wish_.

He moved so quickly and clumsily, he thought himself truly reminiscent of the wolf. He was primal, furious – wild with pulsing lust. His deft fingers flew in the rush to remove his breeches, but he could barely finish the process. By the time he had worked them to his knees, the Inquisitor’s gentle touch was brushing over his backside, and the growl in his throat deepened. Pushing back one of her legs, she winced, but he quieted her with a kiss and delved between her legs without standing on ceremony – not wanting to wait another second. She cried out against the pressure of his mouth, overwhelmed by the pleasure and the slight pain of his gruff entrance. He was panting against her, drinking in her reaction as though it fed his very life, and reveling in the tightness around him.

The Inquisitor was clawing at him, trying to get him to move within her. He sneered, feeling almost on the verge of laughter. How like dogs they became in the throes of passion. Were they really so different, after all?

 “P- please,” squeaked the tiny elf in his clutches. Oh, he felt wonderful. He felt powerful. He felt lifted.

At her plea, Solas took her hands, and brought them to rest above her head. Her chest rose and fell with more intensity as the surprise hit her. “Be still,” he cooed, and his voice was low and rough and foreign to both of them. She seemed to love it. She bit her lip, smirking slightly, and fell still – save for the slight trembling that would not cease.

“Good girl, _ma vhenan_ ,” he breathed.

His grip was at her wrists, and he let his weight fall there, propping himself above her and keeping her pinned helplessly beneath him. She was whimpering, eyes screaming with want, clearly trying not to writhe the way her body plainly needed to.

And so he began to move. Her little fingers twisted beneath his firm grasp, and her head fell back as she emitted the most beautiful cry to her gods: first to Mythal; to Sylaise; to Fen’Harel. He tightened his hold on her at this, watching her face with every long, deep thrust to the hilt. He went slowly, but each time he impaled her it was with a violent slam, as though attempting to split her in two. He let out a guttural moan, practically a howl, and she matched it in intensity with her whining cry.

She sounded perfect, but he wanted more. He wanted her _screaming_. He wanted to hear more of his name in the midst of her shrieks of bliss, and to watch her go red in the face as she came. More than anything, he wanted to feel her reach that state while buried deep inside her slender body – to engage completely in the physical sensations of this experience.

He laced his fingers with hers, and he felt her squeeze as though holding on for dear life. He continued to press her hands into the mattress, holding her captive and keeping her steady as he picked up his pace.

Solas smothered her mouth with his own so he could feel the vibrations of her screaming against his torturous tongue. The heat rose within him, his heart full to bursting as her body melted, succumbing to his power and control. “You are mine,” he murmured through their wild kisses, and in the brief moment that his lips were not locked around her own, she screamed into the night an echoing cry of helpless delight.

“ _Y- yes_ , Solas, _please_ , S – Solas… !” His name, shouted in the heat of love, filled the air and it was sweet music to his ears.

“Mine,” he breathed again.

“Yours…”

He pounded into her, full force, her hips cracking and her groin aching under the magnificent pressure. They had not discussed it, but he knew she wanted this. He knew she could handle him, even as her eyes grew wide with surprise and her moans became punctuated with yelps of pain. “Again,” he ordered, growling this against the shell of her ear.

She whimpered. “I’m yours,” she cried. “Yours, Solas. Yours.”

His frenzied thrusting had her crushed into the mattress, her mantra of “yours,” slowly dissolving into incoherent sobs of pleasure. Her cheeks were scarlet. A dappled flush was creeping over her chest. “I’m… f… Solas… I…” He knew.

“Come, _da’vhenan_ ,” he commanded huskily. “Come. Just for me.”

Her neck arched. The pleasure racked her, and he watched as every muscle in her contracted. She tightened hard around him, dripping messily, and he laughed darkly at the sensation. His own bliss was boiling. He was very close, though he wished the experience could go on forever.

Taking a chance with a sudden idea, he transferred one of her hands to the grip shared by the other, so that she was still pinned but he had a free hand. Gently placing his palm to her forehead, he closed his eyes as the magic built. He knew that, despite the rolling waves, she was confused by his action, but then –

Reality shattered. He felt her orgasm as though it were his own, and felt her love in his own heart. Their moans became one entity as the sensations mounted and burst, coursing and beating on the insides of their skulls. Her body was wrapped up in his, and he was absorbing her, his mouth on her jaw line utterly devouring her and his fingers bleeding into her hair as the magic took them.

Solas came with a shudder, and in this magically heightened state they could both feel him, vividly, spilling inside of her and painting her inside walls with the substance of life – undoing them both.

Time skidded to a halt. As the mage drew his hand from the Inquisitor’s face, she gasped, as though she had forgotten what was happening. Both elves were drenched in sweat, shaking – and the mess between them was spectacular.

They were holding each other tightly, limbs tangled and growing cold as their sticky sweat dried over their flesh in the chilly night air. Solas buried his face in her hair, inhaling slowly and pointedly as though to hold the smell of her forever. Then, the Inquisitor laughed. “Hm?” he questioned vaguely.

He felt her dainty hands trail across his bare hip, and his skin prickled. She sighed between laughs, planting a kiss on his chest. “Dread Wolf take me,” she breathed, shaking her head, and his jaw clenched. Reality was settling back in. He didn’t like it. This was too real. “That was… ”

“A dream,” he finished for her.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. He closed his eyes as the pain gripped his heart again. “The exact opposite. That was real. That… “ She laughed again, looking positively giddy. “That happened! We… and, you…”

His lips twitched and twisted into a pleased grin in spite of himself. “It was,” he agreed. “Are you alright?” he added, rolling over to lean above her again. His eyes searched her face, but she was smiling. She looked like a relaxed child. “I know I might have been a bit…”

The Inquisitor brought her hands up to stroke his face, and he leaned into the touch, his chest aching. How could he ever leave her? “You were a bit,” she said teasingly. “But I loved it. In fact, next time – ” His stomach turned. “You can do a lot more to me if it pleases you. That is – assuming you would want there to be a next time.”

He looked pained. She could tell. Even in the aftermath of violent lovemaking, they still held each other in a state of sorrow. He thought suddenly of the way he’d held her lifeless body the first time they’d ever met, using every magic he knew to keep her alive. The memory brought a lump to his throat. “Want...? Of course I want.” _Stupid_ , Solas thought. _Why would you say that?_ He frowned. _Because it’s true_ , he reasoned sadly. There was time, though, he thought, before he would be forced to leave. And in that time, why should he not have this? Why…?

Her lips found his ear, and he swooned a little at the sensation, his brow furrowed deeply, still lost in thought. This was foolish, and extremely selfish, but he needed it. He needed her.

“Then in that case,” she purred, “next time, I give you permission to do whatever you please with me. My body is yours, Solas. _I_ am yours. You’ve got me, body and soul.”

As her tongue darted out to taste him again, his heart expanded. “ _Da’vhenan_ ,” he gasped between kisses, the worry within him still fluttering angrily – painfully. “I…” He gulped. _I love you_.

“I know,” she said. 

* * *

 

Soon after, Solas slipped out of the Inquisitor’s quarters with a heavy soul but a heart that was feather light with the tentative promises of new love. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it, catching his breath in the throne room. He was making a terrible mistake, but it was a mistake without which he felt sure his world would crumble – and for the time being, he didn’t care how selfish it was.

Someone nearby cleared her throat, and he looked up. Lavellan’s advisor Leliana was sitting in the Inquisitor’s throne, legs crossed, looking impatient.

“May I help you?” Solas asked.

She raised her eyebrows, looking incredulous as she got to her feet. “You have been in there for hours, Solas. May I go see our Inquisitor now?”

Something in him swelled with pride. “It is quite late, Spymaster, and – well,” he gazed wistfully back at the door before looking deviously into Leliana’s face again. “I’m… fairly certain our good Inquisitor needs _rest_ tonight.”

Leliana looked equal parts disturbed, amused, and proud. “So I heard,” she chuckled.

What did it matter, really, if others new how well Solas used her? They should be pleased their leader was doing so well for herself! Honestly! With a proud smirk and a noncommittal wave back at the Spymaster, he started down the throne room to retreat to his quarters, leaving Leliana looking aimless and uncomfortable.

He was pleased to be alone with his thoughts once again, but in the dark solitary of his room he still could not be rid of her face from his mind.

The sound of his name on her lips teased him, and as he lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, his heart constricted. “ _Fen’Harel take me_ ,” he remembered her calling out to the sky, voice cracking in the heat of desire. At the thought, a dark piece of him rumbled. His chest swelled, and his loins stirred.

He shut his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. “No,” he groaned, and rolled over, choking back tears – something he had not needed to do in years. Solas was then lost to the night’s cruel imagination, his head swimming with images of his lover – fucked, beaten, bloody, and consumed by a large wolf.


End file.
